Melody of Love

The first time I saw her, she was commanding her raspberry pickers like a seasoned military sergeant. I grasped my dad's jacket as she turned to us.

"I'm Rick, and this is my daughter Suzanne," Dad said. The woman smiled. "Yes, sir!" she said. "I'm Juanita Jacobson."

I shook her hand timidly. She waved my dad away, assuring him she would take good care of me.

Minutes later she bustled me into her house and led me to a glass case containing her most precious possession — a large collection of Hummels. My job was to guard the valuables.

More than a move

Three months earlier, my family had moved across the country. While my siblings seemed to adjust to the change, I did not. At night, I would cry myself to sleep.

As summer came, my mind filled with thoughts of horse camp. My parents gently explained they didn't have the money to send me. So I began looking for a job to earn the $200 myself. Jobs were few for 12-year- olds, but I found an ad for raspberry picking that didn't include an age requirement.

After much begging from me, my dad dialed the number. "Yes, we go to church," I heard him say. I met one of the job requirements.

When Dad hung up the phone, he grinned. "You have a job."

I'd start the next day. That night I hardly slept, dreaming of a raspberry patch.

More than a job

After receiving my instructions, I perched on a stool in the kitchen. A young man walked through the door — my first potential thief. I watched him carefully. He strolled into the kitchen, said a cheery "hello" and began rummaging through the fridge. I wondered if I should say anything.

Just then Juanita walked through the door and introduced me to her son Roy. Later we laughed over my misunderstanding, and it became one of Juanita's favorite stories.

I soon learned that I was more than an employee to Juanita. Her long-distance granddaughter had done my job the year before, and I filled a void. Each morning I arrived at 5:30 and was greeted with a hug and mug of hot chocolate.

Even though I received an hourly wage for guarding the house, I still wanted to pick berries. Juanita eventually set me loose in the berry field; whenever she saw my enthusiasm waning, she hurried me back inside. I rarely lasted more than two hours picking berries. Then I would sit on her gold velvet couch and watch cartoons until lunchtime.

Lunch with her was my favorite time of the day. We'd share chicken salad sandwiches and orange soda, while I waited for my mom to pick me up. We'd have grown-up conversations about my family, her garden — and God. She talked about Him like He was her dearest friend.

More than a boss

Sometime that summer, I began calling Juanita "Grandma J." One afternoon, she invited my mom and siblings over for a tea party. After tea, we gathered around her organ and sang. I listened with wonder as her powerful voice soared over the words: "I have a song that Jesus gave me. It was sent from heaven above. There never was a sweeter melody. 'Tis the melody of love."

Her worn fingers danced over the keys as four children and a young mom joined in on the chorus: "In my heart there rings a melody. There rings a melody of love."

This kind of love was a new experience for me. I had never lived near my grandparents, so the hugs, attention and spoiling that Grandma J poured on me filled a deep need. Her companionship eased the loneliness and uncertainty that plagued me from our family's move. At her home, I belonged. It wasn't long before she began introducing me to others as her adopted granddaughter.

Grandma J became an important part of my life. My siblings and I joined her as she led a weekly church service at a rest home, an experience that gave us a lifelong love for seniors. At Christmastime, she let me help her make fudge and divinity.

Even after my family moved away two years later, she drove three hours to attend our high school plays and graduations. Although Juanita had a big loving family, she had enough love to share with us, too — a young family far from grandparents.

In the last letter I received from Grandma J, she wrote: "I just can't tell you how much you and your dear family mean to me. I'm so very blessed to have you in my life." But I was the one who had been blessed. When I needed a friend, God gave me a grandmother.

Last year, at her memorial service, I smiled as people shared story after story of her generosity and love. The 14 years she'd been a part of my life had left a profound impression on me. As Roy's tenor voice soared in the words of his mother's favorite song — "In my heart there rings a melody" —

I knew the melody of Grandma J's life had been love.